


Eight Months.

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, VIXX, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: M/M, brief mentions of chabean, eonnie's famous crossovers, vague jeongmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which hongbin makes the mistake of acknowledging that he is a human being with feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Months.

Train cars weren't warm.

He'd figured that out in the first biting days of October, when the frost on the ground matched the frost on his lips in the mostly-dark of morning. Train cars weren't warm, but they were better than sleeping in a cardboard box or some shit and besides that, the train car had a lock on it.

It was a nice, safe place to go back to when he was done with busking, holding light bags of food or sometimes clothes.

He knew some of the guys on the same busking circuit didn't approve of what other guys did after hours, but when the options were starving and freezing to death, or eating and surviving, well. It was clear which one any of them were going to choose. Hongbin's extra money got spent at places like the salvation army or indoor flea markets, went to things like blankets and clothes that weren't shredding off his body and cans of food that were nearly expired or the one time he got really lucky and found a single-burner gas cooktop stove for fifteen bucks and four gas refills for an extra ten. Worth every fucking penny. He hadn't resorted to the Worlds Oldest Profession in a while. He didn't miss it.

He was looking forward to going back to the train car to heat up some of the canned chicken in his backpack, when he heard someone coughing. Not the, _I'm kind of sick_ cough he'd been used to hearing before, not the _I smoke too much and I'm gonna die of fucking lung cancer_ cough. He hesitated and he knew he shouldn't, because no one was going to be kind to him, no one would do this for him, but—but that sounded like someone dying, it sounded like someone caught between violent fits of coughing so hard they threw up. He'd seen people do that before.

He swallowed and turned the corner to see some kid trying to cover their mouth with their arm, so out of breath they couldn't even cough properly. He thought for a long few minutes, or maybe just a few seconds, before he crept down the alleyway and hissed out, “Hey.”

The kid—a boy, he could see now, with wide eyes and a bloodied nose and mouth—jerked his head up and scrabbled back, dragging his heels over the ground. It was kind of pathetic. More than kind of. “Hey, stop it. You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he rolled his eyes.

“Okay.”

He started back down the alley. He'd done his part. He'd asked. The kid hadn't answered. With any luck he wouldn't—...

Hongbin groaned to himself. He was turning into Hakyeon, that fucking bleeding-heart over by the St. Christopher church, the one who took care of all those _kids_ for fucking nothing _._ He'd known that hanging out with him was gonna be bad for his survival chances.

He turned back around and stalked over, grabbing the kid by his bloody forearm and nearly dragging him down the alleyway, ignoring his protests. It was late enough that anyone who heard anything wasn't going to say anything, wouldn't call the cops on a couple of fucking hooligans out in the streets in the middle of the night. Morning. Whatever.

“Come on, Jesus, chill the fuck out--”

“No, no _let go,_ let—let go of me--” The kid was trying to get away, he really was. But he was weak and Hongbin'd had more than one meal in the last four days and he was taller and strong despite all the odds, so he just kept pulling along until the kid lost enough of his breath to stop protesting in favor of trying to keep his lungs full of air.

The walk to the train car wasn't that long. It wasn't long and Hongbin fumbled with his necklace to unlock the door, dragging it open and climbing up. He hauled the kid—skinny and lightweight, not very muscular at all—up into the car and closed the door, re-locked it from the inside and dropped him to the floor.

The kid coughed until he couldn't breathe and Hongbin looked down at him before he fumbled around for a tea light and his matches, lit it and set it on the floor near his little cooktop. He looked worse in this light. He had big bags under his eyes and he was hunched over and there was no fat on him, none at all. In this light and at this angle Hongbin could see the sharp blades of his collarbones and the way his knuckles seemed swollen in comparison to the length of his fingers. The blood on his face seemed black and he stared at Hongbin over the flame with something like terror in his expression but he didn't move. Maybe he couldn't.

Hongbin pursed his lips and reached for the cooktop and his tiny pan, the single wooden spoon. He usually rinsed his dishes out in the public bathroom near the river, not a hundred feet away and he was glad he'd bothered that morning. He lit the gas into a ring of flame and rummaged through his backpack, squinting in the dark to find the chicken noodle soup and the canned chicken, peeling back the tops and dumping them into the pot. He threw the cans into a shopping bag in the corner and shuffled closer to the flame, where the air was slightly warmer.

“You sick or something?” he asked, and the kid hesitated, shook his head. “So you're just hacking up your lungs for no goddamn reason?” Hongbin said, and the kid nodded, looking for all the world like he was going to start crying.

Hongbin frowned.

“Look,” he started. “Look if you're fucking sick just keep your goddamn mouth covered. I don't want whatever you have. I got enough problems without my lungs trying to escape my body, okay.” He didn't have spoons or bowls, but he stirred up the soup until it was warm and offered the put out by the handle. The kid had been mostly silent and only coughed a few times, had used spit on his sleeves to clean up the mess on his face. He was kind of cute, in a... kicked-puppy kind of way.

It was rude, Hongbin had discovered some years before, to ask questions. To ask what someone was doing on the street, to ask how they'd gotten there. There was a vague camaraderie between some of them but that didn't mean they were friends. He'd resolved not to ask as he watched the kid carefully take a few bites of chicken and cheap noodles, drank down some of the broth before offering the pot back to Hongbin. He'd done this before, it was clear. Shared a tiny meal in silence with only the flame of a tea light to differentiate real life from a dream.

“I was looking for my brother,” he rasped, and Hongbin looked at him over the rim of the pot. “And I... Some guys came, and I ran, and. I got lost.”

Understandable, Hongbin felt. The narrow streets and lack of lights made it easy to get lost, especially in the dark. The kid was shivering now, as though he'd remembered how fucking cold it was. He wasn't wearing anything except a fucking hoodie and filthy jeans and a pair of boots he'd probably been wearing for the last five years. Hongbin pursed his mouth.

“S'blankets behind you,” he said. They both smelled awful, it wasn't like it was gonna matter if the kid slept in his blankets. Everything in this shit city smelled awful. “Get some sleep.”

The kid looked like he wanted to ask something but decided it was unwise, pulling a blanket up from the pile and wrapping it around himself, up and around his head. Hongbin watched him sleep and felt something dangerously close to pity. No way, no fucking way. First light he was dumping the kid where he fucking found him and that was that. After taking his picture.

The digital camera was a piece of shit but it took double A batteries and Hongbin took pictures when he could. Of people, of the city, the water, the stray dogs and mostly feral cats. It had been a gift from Hakyeon, the second or third time he'd gone to the church. _It looks like something you'd like,_ Hakyeon had said, pushing it into Hongbin's hands along with an SD card and a four pack of batteries. Hongbin wanted to ask how many dicks Hakyeon had sucked to be able to afford it, but he'd been so flooded with a quiet kind of gratitude he hadn't been able to make a smartass remark.

(as it turned out, all of it together had cost fifteen dollars. It was old, practically worthless, but it took nice pictures in daylight, and Hongbin treasured it. Hakyeon was the first friend he made after he climbed through the window onto the fire escape and out into the steel trap that was the city at large. It was a gift from his first friend and it was important to him. No matter how much shit he gave Hakyeon.)

Hongbin finished off the soup and put the pot and spoon aside. He grabbed a blanket and laid down, and was somehow unsurprised that the kid scooted towards him, his face poking out of the blanket as he did so. “You ain't subtle,” Hongbin said, dryly amused. “Come on, it's cold. The fuck's the point of saving your skinny ass and feeding you if you're just gonna die of hypothermia?” The kid smiled and Hongbin smiled back at him. “C'mon.”

The kid pressed up close to his front and Hongbin sighed. Fuck.

He was turning into Hakyeon.

×

When morning came, Hongbin curled his lip and sat up. Another day, another... Dollar. He squinted down at the kid asleep beside him and bent a bit to make sure he was still breathing.

He was. It was raspy and wet but he was breathing, so he hadn't died over his night in Hongbin's only somewhat capable care. Hongbin decided he'd take the kid to St. Christophers—Hakyeon would know what to do with him, he knew what to do with everyone.

“Hey. Hey, wake up.”

“huh?” the kid looked up at him and Hongbin scowled. No one should be that... Fucking cute. Again, with the kicked puppy thing, but fuck, in the light filtering in through the cracks in the sides of the train car he really was kind of adorable.

“Up. We're gonna go.”

“Go where?” he asked, sitting up and untangling himself from the blanket with a hard shiver. He really was fucking skinny and Hongbin was reminded of pictures he'd seen in National Geographics when he was a kid, of starving children in Africa or whatever with their bony limbs and bloated bellies. That was what the kid looked like.

“Find you somewhere to stay.”

“I got somewhere t'go, I just gotta find my brother,” he said, coughing hard into his hand. “I gotta find him.”

“Well you ain't gonna find him sitting in here, are you,” Hongbin asked and the kid shook his head like he had no idea how to process sarcasm. Christ. “Come on, lets go.”

He threw open the door of the train car with a cuss. Fuck it was cold out there. There was a low fog, the ground silver-frosted as he jumped down onto it and made sure the kid didn't fucking face-plant into the gravel and grass.

“Where are we?” he asked, looking around.

“The old train yard. Hold still.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it,” Hongbin said, holding the shitty digital camera up to his face to take a few pictures of the kid in the filtered sunlight. His hair was dark, his eyes somewhat large and his lips bruised. He had a shiner across his left brow but he smiled at the sight of the camera.

“My brother had one of those,” he said, even as he raised his hand into a V. Hongbin couldn't help but smile at the picture he made through the viewfinder. The kid had a soft little glow, and he wasn't sure if it was the sunlight or just him. “He took pictures too.”

“Did he,” Hongbin asked, moving to put the camera back in the buckled pocket of his backpack, where it was mostly safe from being stolen, but the kid offered out his hand for it. “If you take off with it I'll fucking kill you,” he said, but the kid didn't start running. He turned it on, turned it around and took a picture of himself, probably out of focus and with bad lighting as he held the V up to his eye and grinned like a fool, but. Didn't really matter, he seemed really happy about it.

“Thanks,” he said, offering the camera back. Hongbin wanted to ask why, but decided not to. “I gotta go, though.”

“Do you know where you're going?”

“I think so,” the kid nodded, and Hongbin realized the kid was wearing a very thin silver chain around his neck, with a tiny cross hanging on his chest. “The back row's that way, right?” he pointed and Hongbin felt a shudder run down his spine. The back row? Was that where the kid _lived?_ That corrugated-metal-and-tarps shanty town right down by the water was fucking _dangerous._ Not that he was all that worried, since the kid wasn't his problem, but he couldn't—could not, in good conscience, let him fucking walk back there by himself when he looked like a fucking kicked puppy and took pictures of himself with a strangers camera and cuddled up to said stranger in the middle of the night for warmth.

Maybe he was used to cuddling up to a different kind of stranger, but that didn't matter.

“Well. Lets go then.”

“What?”

“Lets go.”

Hongbin started walking and, like a puppy, the kid followed behind him. He anticipated silence, but the raspy little voice asked, “Hey, what's your name?”

He took a moment to answer. He always gave any kind of fake name, but the kid had slept spooned up to him the night before and he was literally starving and coughing up his lungs and he just couldn't make himself lie. There was some kind of. Gross, brotherly intimacy there and he just didn't want to lie.

“Hongbin,” he said, and the kid smiled at him. It was blinding.

“I'm Jeongguk.”

×

The walk to the back row took longer than Hongbin anticipated. Jeongguk was easily distracted and terrified of groups of strangers, so they ended up walking a lot of empty back alleys and pausing every time Jeongguk found something shiny—bottlecaps, pennies, nickles, shards of glass. He'd found almost fifty cents in change by the time they reached the first row of “houses,” and he swallowed.

“So. You two live here or what.”

“No,” he shook his head. “My brother's friend does. Sometimes he comes here so I just... Wanna make sure, before I go running around.” Now it was Jeongguk who led and Hongbin who followed, walking behind him and trying very hard not to clench his fists. He did claw at his thighs through the pockets of his jeans whenever he heard shouting, or wailing, or someone getting hit. He couldn't help it. He didn't want to fucking _be here._

It was a fucking stupid idea and if he had any fucking brains at all he'd leave the kid here to fend for himself and go get down to work, begging for change or for food or whatever. But he kept following because he was apparently developing some kind of fucking messiah complex (he was going to _kill_ Hakyeon) until they reached a shack at the edge of the second row and Jeongguk _knocked,_ like, properly fucking knocked on the metal door.

And someone fucking _opened_ it which was even more surprising.

The—man? Woman? Person who opened the door had a delicate face and messy hair, a boxy smile and skin the color of cream. Jesus, he, she, they were pale.

“Jeongguk,” they said, and Jeongguk smiled, let himself be pulled down into a hug even though it it seemed to bend him nearly in half. “There you are. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, springing back upright when the person—man, it was a man, Hongbin was sure—let go of him. “Yeah, I just got lost. Is my brother here?”

“Looks like you got more than lost,” the man said, touching the left side of Jeongguk's face and glaring around his shoulder at Hongbin, who sneered back, an acidic remark on the top of his tongue—

“He didn't hurt me,” Jeongguk was quick to say, looking between the two of them like he was scared they were gonna start fighting and Hongbin clamped his jaw. “I stayed with Hongbin last night. I ran into him after I got lost, so I just stayed with him.” He spoke like the two of them had known one another and Hongbin knew that was because it was safer to act that way, less likelihood for violence or confrontation. It made Hongbin feel... Weird. The kid was going out of his way, _lying,_ to keep a confrontation from happening. That was fucking sad and weird and explained why he had a shiner and no bruises on his own knuckles.

“Right,” the man said, clearly not quite believing. “Anyway. He's not here. He and Namjoon went down to the church. It's Sunday, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Jeongguk nodded and Hongbin had no idea what they were talking about so maybe it was time for him to make his escape. “On Sundays the Polish church hands out meals,” he explained, turning around to face Hongbin and effectively ruining his escape plans. Damn it.

“They should be back soon,” the man said, and Hongbin wanted to snarl or run away or something because this was getting fucking awkward and he had shit to do. “So if your... Friend. Wants to stay and eat something, he's welcome to do that.”

“Are you gonna stay to eat, Hongbin?” Jeongguk asked, and Hongbin felt ( _again_ ) very much like he was looking at a puppy with big wet eyes, whimpering and rubbing it's face against his hands. Fucking _kids._ “I mean we had that soup last night, but.”

“I gotta go,” he lied. Shit, he was a terrible liar. “I got... Stuff. I gotta do.”

“You should stay,” the man in the doorframe said, and Hongbin took in the feminine way he stood, the cheap cami he was wearing, it's straps falling off of one shoulder and the loose, too-long sweatpants rolled down his hips to try and make them fit. He looked like a proper whore, one with a pimp. He probably was. This was the back row after all. Who the fuck knows what these people got up to in order to survive. The only reason Hongbin wasn't here was because he didn't fucking want to be. For the most part these people were desperate, cruel and vindictive. Hongbin... Hongbin was just hungry. And tired. “Yoongi's gonna want to meet you.”

Thinking to himself that this was the worst fucking idea _ever,_ Hongbin gave a heavily put-upon sigh and shrugged. “Fine, fine. But I can't stay all day, I really do got shit to do.”

“You should come in then,” the man in the doorway said. “It's fucking cold out here.”

Jeongguk nodded and followed the small man inside and Hongbin let himself be pulled. This was the worst idea ever. Worst. Fuck.

×

The shack was only barely more insulated than the train car, though it was wider. There was a mattress on a bedframe made of a piece of plywood and cinderblocks, and a gas cooktop like the one Hongbin had, only bigger. There were proper pots and shit, but the utensils and plates had clearly come from a scouts mess kit, three or four of them broken down. Hongbin tried not to be uncomfortable as the man sat on the bed and wrapped himself in a blanket while Jeongguk sat on the floor and motioned for Hongbin to join him. This was fucking ridiculous, what was he, this kids boyfriend or something?

“Where're you from anyway,” the man on the bed asked, and the lie sat on Hongbin's tongue but Jeongguk beat him to it.

“Hongbin lives near the old train yard,” he said, and Hongbin wanted to throttle him. “I got _really_ lost last night, Baekhyun.”

“I guess you did,” Baekhyun said, squinting at Hongbin like he needed glasses, or like he was extremely annoyed. There was no difference in the expression in Hongbin's experience. Hakyeon looked at him like that all the time.

Luckily, the awkward conversation didn't last long. The door burst open in the middle of Jeongguk explaining how he'd gotten turned around and two men came in, holding bags of styrofoam containers in their hands. They stepped in and Baekhyun got up and Jeongguk's face brightened and Hongbin felt like he needed to disappear because he did _not_ belong anywhere near any of this, at all.

“All right look you bastards, now that you've got your fucking meals I gotta go--”

“Yoongi!” Jeongguk chirped, standing up and smiling brightly. Hongbin pulled his camera from his bag and snapped a couple of photos from his lap as Yoongi—who was shorter than Jeongguk by a fair amount through just as skinny, just as starved, though his skin was somehow paler—yanked Jeongguk to him and cussed into his ear, gripping him so hard it looked painful.

“Sweet dangling cupped-up _Christ,_ Jeongguk you fucking _moron_ , where have you _been,_ what the fuck _happened._ ” Yoongi's voice was hard and breathless.

“I got lost,” Jeongguk said, sheepish into Yoongi's shoulder. “I got really turned around, sorry.”

“I could fucking _kill you,_ ” Yoongi hissed, shoving Jeongguk a bit, but Jeongguk was taller and still holding on, so all it really did was cause him to take a tiny step back. “ _Fuck._ ”

“I'm okay, I'm okay, I promise,” Jeongguk was whispering. “I'm okay, I stayed with a friend, it's okay, I'm okay.”

Hongbin was on his way towards the door, pressed up to the wall before the taller guy who had just come in, the one with darker skin, looked over at him. “S'this your friend,” he asked, and Hongbin could have throttled him for bringing attention to his escape attempt. “What's his name.”

“Hongbin,” Jeongguk said, disentangling himself from Yoongi and smiling. “This is Hongbin, I stayed with him last night. I told you, I was fine!”

Yoongi whipped around and Hongbin felt his hackles raising, stared back into those dark, narrow eyes and felt his blood pressure jumping. Shit. Shit, just looking at this skinny little fuck was pissing him off. Who the fuck did he think he was, glaring at him like that? He'd fucking saved his idiot kid brother's life, _fuck_ that expression he was making from underneath his dark, dirty hair.

“I gotta go,” he said, and Jeongguk's protest was only half-formed before he got out of the shack and started stalking down the narrow space between the rows of shanties. Fuck that. Fuck Jeongguk, fuck that whore, and fuck his brother, who had stared at Hongbin like he could see right through him. That was what he got for being _kind?_

He wasn't going to bother anymore.

×

Somehow, his vow not to be kind wasn't really working out.

Hongbin found himself at St. Christophers for the third day in a row, sitting on the stone stairs with Hakyeon and listening to the silence. The kids had been brought inside for Mass and evening lessons or bible study or whatever it was and Hakyeon looked so fucking old, so tired as he sat there under the streetlights. He helped out at the church because he was a bleeding heart, because he didn't know what else to do with his days but it wasn't like he was rewarded. He didn't get to take showers, he didn't get to sleep in the church, he didn't... There were no _benefits_ to what he was doing, so Hongbin didn't really get it.

“Where you gonna sleep tonight,” he asked, and Hakyeon shrugged a practiced, lazy shrug. “You wanna come spend the night with me?”

“Excuse me? Is this you, Hongbin, being nice to me, Hakyeon?” he asked, and Hongbin scowled.

“If you're gonna be a pain in the ass about it--”

“I'd like that,” Hakyeon said, laughing. It was an exhausted laugh, worn at the edges. “Sorry. S'been a long day.”

“Well. C'mon then. We gotta go now if you don't want to walk in the fuckin' dark.”

“Don't swear,” Hakyeon said, and Hongbin rolled his eyes.

“Just cause you're some kind of saint doesn't mean the rest of us are.”

Hongbin kind of hated that about Hakyeon, if he was honest. He'd always liked Hakyeon, even if he drove him crazy, but Hakyeon tried so hard and got nothing, _nothing,_ in return, so what was the point in wasting all of his time and energy for what? For the fucking thanks of the clergy? That didn't put food in his fucking stomach, not even scraps of leftovers from the church dinners. Hakyeon received _nothing._ And he did it anyway. Hongbin hated it.

“I'm not a saint,” Hakyeon was arguing, but Hongbin shook his head and pulled him away from the steps of St. Christophers, the bronze angel at the top of the first peak looking down at them in disappointment and Hongbin turned and flipped it the bird.

“What are you doing,” Hakyeon asked, laughing lightly. Hongbin reached for his camera.

“Telling God to fuck off,” he muttered, and he took a picture of Hakyeon's smile, the one that reached his eyes.

×

Hongbin didn't wait for nightfall to climb up into the train car and bring Hakyeon in. He broke the stolen thermal pads meant for gloves and tucked them into the blankets he laid Hakyeon back on, so he wouldn't be cold when Hongbin fucked him. They did this, once in a while. Hongbin needed it and so did Hakyeon, as much as he denied it. Hakyeon needed to cling to someone and Hongbin could do that for him, could let Hakyeon loop his arms over his shoulders and hold on while he fucked into him slow and hard, their heat trapped between the blankets, sweat dripping, muscles straining.

Hakyeon was fucking beautiful and he deserved so much fucking more than what he got, for all he did for everyone but himself. He was beautiful and in the dying light through the cracks of the train car Hongbin photographed him, the redness of his lips as he bit them, the sweat on his forehead and the curve of his ribs when he came, his legs tight around Hongbin's hips as Hongbin jerked him off hard and fast and bent to kiss him when he finished.

“Hongbin,” Hakyeon murmured, and Hongbin put a hand over his mouth to keep him from saying that he was sorry for being needy, for being so shameless, for taking advantage of him, or any other number of stupid fucking things he'd said before and would likely try to say again.

“Shut up,” he said. “Just shut up, okay?” Hakyeon smiled against his fingers, kissed them, and settled down onto the bed—blankets piled on a platform made of stolen plywood, resting on stolen cinderblocks.

×

Sometimes Hongbin saw Jeongguk while he was out busking. He got to call it busking instead of _begging_ onlybecause he sang. He used to play guitar, before he had to pawn it off for food money. Some things were more important than his guitar. It still stung, and his callouses were already mostly gone, but singing earned him enough to live on. Enough for new blankets at Goodwill or food at the dollar store. When Jeongguk came by, Hongbin gave him a piece of chocolate, or a can of peaches, just because he always seemed to look thinner and thinner, bony and frail.

“Hey,” Hongbin finally asked because he had to, he had to when Jeongguk collapsed into him in the cold of a mid-December morning. He'd looked like a ghost, walking down the street, and when he found Hongbin he'd looked like he was going to cry and Hongbin wasn't so much of an asshole (despite his proclamations) that he wouldn't let him curl into him, wouldn't tuck him under the sleeve of his cheap, too-big coat and tremble. “Jeongguk. Hey.”

“M'cold,” he whispered, and Hongbin felt his throat tighten.

“Where's your brother, huh? Shouldn't he be taking care of you?”

Jeongguk's face twisted and Hongbin felt himself stiffening in alarm. Jeongguk had spoken of his brother with such affection, such... Love. And his brother clearly loved him too, if their reunion at—whoever's house that was was any indication so-- What on earth--

“He's,” Jeongguk started. “He's not.”

“...Not what,” Hongbin breathed, dreading the answer. He didn't like Yoongi—he hadn't even seen him since that first encounter, when the two of them had nearly jumped one another over—over nothing at all it seemed, but he liked Jeongguk, and he didn't... Didn't want him to be...

“He's really _sick,_ ” Jeongguk tried to keep a rein on his voice but it broke on the last word, turned into a hiccup as he buried his face into Hongbin's shoulder and tightened his fist in his shirt. “He's really—and I can't, I—”

“Hey,” he said, unsure of what to do. This was Hakyeon territory, not Hongbin territory. “Hey, it's. It's okay, huh? What's wrong with him?”

“I don't know,” Jeongguk whispered. “He's so cold and, and he's coughing and he just won't get warm, no matter what I try, and he won't _eat,_ and--” Hongbin felt a rush of worry, agitation, and frustration all at once. He was worried for Jeongguk, maybe a little worried for Yoongi. Maybe. He was pissed at Yoongi for getting sick, which was illogical, but fuck he'd probably had the ability to _prevent_ being sick and hadn't, like most people their age and in their situation. All it took was a few fucking preventative measures, all it took was some care--

“Come on,” Hongbin said, carefully getting up and bringing Jeongguk with him, picking up his beanie, full of change and small bills. People always felt more charitable at Christmas time, and Hongbin sang with a bit more confidence, because he knew the Christmas songs. “Come on, lets go.”

“Go where?” Jeongguk sniffled, and Hongbin forced him into his jacket, pulling the hat over his own head. “We're gonna go get your brother.”

×

Jeongguk led Hongbin down narrow streets and through alleys until he got to the-- the fucking _box_ the brothers lived in. Okay, it wasn't really a box, but it was little better than, save that it was covered with a tarp to protect it from the rain. Jeongguk had to get on his knees to duck inside and carefully rouse his brother, who said nothing, his breathing raspy and weak.

“Yoongi. Yoongi, come on, we're going to stay with Hongbin for a while, okay? Come on, you need to get up, I can't carry you, Yoongi please--”

Hongbin edged Jeongguk out of the way and bent to lift Yoongi. Yoongi, who had been so full of spitfire and suspicion not two months ago, was made of paper. He was the color of moonlight and his eyes were blackened and unfocused, his lips pale. Hongbin swallowed hard and shifted to be carrying him like he'd carry a small child, chest-to-chest with his arms under Yoongi's thighs. “Come on, Jeongguk,” he said, starting the walk back to the train car. Yoongi's breathing was so light on his neck, he almost didn't feel it.

×

The train car still wasn't very insulated, but Hongbin had covered most of the holes with caulking after the first huge rain of November and the bed was covered in blankets. That was where he deposited Yoongi. He lit three tea lights and motioned for Jeongguk to help him as he got out his cooktop and pot. “There's two soup cans over there, grab'em for me-- and the can of chicken too, yeah. Thanks, now. See those wipes?” Jeongguk nodded. “Clean him up with those best you can. Face and hands, okay? There's some dry shampoo over there, use it on his hair.” Jeongguk was so dazed that he followed the instructions without question. Yoongi didn't fight him, just seemed to stare, eyes half open, out into the darkness.

But Jeongguk was trembling too badly, clearly frightened, and Hongbin fought the urge to growl in frustration. Fuck. Had he ever been that fucking scared? Probably.

“Come here,” he said, and Jeongguk turned to look at him. “Come here, you do this, I'll do that.”

He nodded, and Hongbin moved to take over cleaning Yoongi up. The baby wipes cleared away most of the mess on his hands and face, though they left his cheeks red with irritation. He squinted his eyes closed and Hongbin wasn't sure if he was crying because it hurt, or because he couldn't _stop._ He tried to be careful as he sprayed the dry shampoo into Yoongi's hair and rubbed it in, leaving his hair a bit stiff but feeling cleaner. “Hey,” he said, very softly. Yoongi's eyes rolled up to look at him. “I'm gonna put you in some clean clothes.”

“mm,” Yoongi said, tilting his head in what must have been a nod of acknowledgement. Hongbin fought Yoongi free of his clothes—too few layers of tanktop, tee shirt and flannel, no jacket. His ribs were stark and his hipbones jutted up like peaks, his belly a sunken valley between them. He had ugly bruises in all the wrong places. Hongbin swallowed hard and got Yoongi into clean pajamas, a mostly clean sweater and a pair of fuzzy socks he hadn't even taken the tags off of yet (god bless the dollar store.) He tucked him down into the bed and was turning away when Yoongi's hand clawed at his arm, tried to hold on. He turned back around.

“What.”

“Make sure he eats first,” Yoongi whispered, and Hongbin felt his stomach do that weird jolting thing it sometimes did when he saw Hakyeon give away his food to someone else, or when someone made sure to tell him that his singing was _beautiful_ before dropping money into his hat.

“...I will,” he said, and Yoongi nodded, closing his eyes and laying back into the bed, his breathing marginally more stable. Hongbin got off the bed and sat next to Jeongguk. He was staring down at the soup as he stirred it, his knuckles white.

“Hey,” Hongbin murmured, and wrapped his arm over Jeongguk's shoulder. “He's gonna be okay, you know. Just gotta get him warmed up, cleaned up. He's gonna be okay.”

“We got kicked out of the place we were living,” Jeongguk said softly. “He... He said he wouldn't let. Let me--” his voice stuttered and dropped even further in volume. “Wouldn't let me do what he does. Did. Wouldn't let them _make_ me. And...” he swallowed and pursed his lips. “And they beat him real bad and I just. I didn't know what to do, he was... And I didn't want to ask Namjoon because he's so scary when he's mad and I--”

“And I'm not mad, right?” Hongbin said, and Jeongguk nodded. “Well, here. Go get cleaned up. I put some pajamas on the bed for you. Get changed, okay? We'll eat over there.” He watched him go to use the baby wipes and dry shampoo. The smell of powder filled up the train car beside the quiet murmurs, reassurances, the sound of care. Hongbin pulled the pot off the burner and turned it off, crept over to the bed and set the pot, cradled with a (one dollar!) pot holder onto Jeongguk's lap. “Eat,” he said. “So I can get cleaned up, too.”

Jeongguk nodded dumbly and Hongbin smiled a little, ruffled his hair and went to change. The clothes were clean, a strange feeling on his dirty skin, but his hair felt less oily and his hands were back to their natural color.

Jeongguk was mechanically lifting spoonfuls to his mouth and Hongbin pursed his lips, climbing up onto the bed behind where Yoongi was laying, with Jeongguk sitting against his legs and chest. He watched as Jeongguk started to feed Yoongi, or tried to, around his brother's restless fidgeting and protesting.

“I can feed my goddamned self,” his voice was like gravel.

“But,” Jeongguk started, looking dangerously close to tears and Hongbin growled under his breath, jerked Yoongi up to press back-to-chest, sitting behind him.

“Eat,” he hissed. “He's fucking worried about you, _eat something._ ”

Yoongi stiffened, like he wanted to fight Hongbin but Jeongguk was still staring at him, still holding out the wooden spoon and he leaned forward, slowly, and took the bite.

Jeongguk lit up, and Hongbin smiled.

×

Hongbin woke up warm.

He usually woke up lukewarm, dreading the transition out of bed but he was _warm,_ and there was a warm body pressed to his front, one his arm was draped over and he vaguely recalled the day before. Jeongguk looking like a ghost, taking him to Yoongi, a paper-boy made of moonlight and coming back to find they were both hungry, sick boys and feeding them, tucking them into his bed and just. Letting them stay.

He opened his eyes and saw Yoongi, on his back, one of his arms tucked under Jeongguk's head, the other braced over his own sunken stomach. His fingers were moving, playing with Jeongguk's hair.

“Mm,” Hongbin said, closing his eyes again.

“Hey,” Yoongi said, and Hongbin opened one eye to look down at him. He was still the color of paper, but there was a light blush to his cheeks, a hint that he _could_ get better. “...thanks.”

“...you're welcome,” he said, unsure of what else he _could_ say. Yoongi was sick. Jeongguk was sick, they were both exhausted and hungry and Jeongguk had said Yoongi wouldn't let him do what he did for work so Hongbin could guess what it was that happened, could guess why Yoongi was overworked. He was small, pretty and desperate. He had someone to take care of. He was an easy fucking target, is what he was.

Hongbin licked his lips.

“You guys can stay here,” he said, and Yoongi squinted up at him. “Just... Until you find somewhere else, okay? Until winter's over. I don't like you,” Yoongi snorted, and motioned to the way that he and Hongbin were practically spooning. “I don't like you, but I like Jeongguk, and... He's been through enough.”

“That's true,” Yoongi whispered, and Hongbin relaxed from where he'd been waiting, tense. “He's...” he trailed off and Hongbin watched the way Yoongi's fingers tugged at his hair, touched his hairline. “He's all I got. I gotta take better care of him.”

“Sometimes that means letting him take care of you, too,” Hongbin said, thinking of Hakyeon at the shelter near the church, quietly existing without anyone noticing except Hongbin, quietly giving himself away and giving and giving until someday, someday when he was hollow, everything lost.

“Shut up,” Yoongi said, though it was more like an exhausted snort. “I know.”

“Didn't look like it to me.”

“I fucked up,” Yoongi admitted, and Hongbin blinked. “I fucked up, I know I did. I just.” Hongbin was surprised to see Yoongi's brow furrowing, his eyes wet. “I just wanted him to be a kid a little longer.”

×

For the first few days, Jeongguk wouldn't let Yoongi out of the bed except to use the public bathroom near the water outside the train car, and even then he insisted on walking with him, because what if he fell, what if he hurt himself? After that he couldn't keep Yoongi down, so he settled for scowling as he left to look for work that was “at least slightly more legitimate than letting someone put their dick in his mouth,” as he said to Hongbin.

Jeongguk scowled and fussed and worried and Hongbin laughed at him, bringing him out when he busked and when he went shopping with his earnings for the next few days. He figured out that it was Yoongi who liked the canned peaches and Jeongguk preferred cherry pie filling. He bought crackers and cheese in a can (which was _disgusting,_ but Jeongguk promised he would eat it so whatever) and took him to Goodwill to buy more socks and underwear. They went to the YMCA to take showers and Hongbin took pictures of Jeongguk's clean face, his damp hair tucked under a hat as they headed back to the train car.

On the sixth day, after getting a few extra goodies—candy, a few bottles of soda along with the case of water—when they got home, Yoongi was waiting for them, smiling a smile entirely too wide for his face and Hongbin took a photo, unable to help himself.

“Yoongi!” Jeongguk called, waving with the hand that wasn't weighed down with groceries. “Yoongi, we got dinner!”

“So did I,” and Yoongi held up a plastic bag with three containers in it. Traditional Korean food, still hot.

“Holy shit,” Hongbin said, outright staring as he unlocked the train car to let the other two in, pulling in the solar lights he'd gotten at a yard sale. They had broken stakes, but he could sit them on a cinderblock and they could see for a couple of hours after dark without burning the tealights. “How'd you manage that?”

Yoongi said something in a language Hongbin didn't know, and laughed when Hongbin gave him his best _what the fuck?_ face.

“I speak Korean, you idiot.”

×

Yoongi's part time job at the restaurant didn't make him a lot of money, but he got fairly good tips for speaking Korean to the locals and got to bring home meals at the end of his shift. Hongbin still made just enough money busking. The two of them together could... They could provide, for Jeongguk and themselves. Hongbin was determined to weather-proof the fucking train car, because he was sick of dragging himself out of bed into the cold morning air because waking up was bullshit enough without having to be fucking freezing cold on top of that, Jesus Christ.

“It's gonna be spring soon,” Yoongi said. “Can't you just deal with it for a few more weeks and _then_ we can worry about it?”

“But I'm cold _now,_ ” Hongbin hissed. Jeongguk had gone with Hakyeon (who was totally enamored, like he was with all the puppy-looking motherfuckers he came across) to look for part time jobs that wouldn't require he have a legal address. It was going to be tricky. Yoongi got paid under the table, all in cash, but Jeongguk might not have such good luck. Hakyeon had confidence, but Hongbin had his doubts.

Plus it left Hongbin and Yoongi alone all fucking day and that was some weird shit all by itself. Hongbin wasn't sure _why,_ but the tension between the two of them was strange and strong and he didn't know what to do about it. He _did_ know he didn't want to fucking deal with it first thing in the morning though, so he grumbled and got back down under the blankets, covering his head. The sheets smelled like store-brand febreeze and Yoongi's hair was dark and soft against his nose.

“Why the fuck are you spooning me, you creep,” Yoongi asked, elbowing Hongbin in the chest.

“Because you're smaller than me,” Hongbin replied. “Besides that you're the one sleeping with your ass in my crotch. Fuck off, shorty.”

“Make me,” Yoongi laughed, pressing his face down into the blanket under his head and Hongbin wanted to punch him.

“I'll make you sleep on the fucking floor, is what I'll do,” Hongbin said, and Yoongi turned back to look at him and Hongbin wanted to punch him in the face. With his face. He looked so-- so _soft_ now that he was eating on a mostly regular basis. He was still too fucking thin but god, he wasn't _gaunt_ and his eyes turned into crescents when he smiled that stupid gummy smile and Hongbin wasn't sure why Yoongi was smiling at him but he also wasn't sure why he was smiling _back_ at him like some kind of lovesick teenager or some shit.

“You will not,” Yoongi said, reaching up and touching Hongbin's cheek with one finger, poking where Hongbin knew his dimple was and he turned his head to bite that thin finger, still watching Yoongi when he opened his teeth and closed his lips to let the fingertip rest on his tongue, instead. “Hongbin.”

“Mm?” Hongbin asked, moving his mouth down that thin digit and taking a perverse kind of pleasure in watching Yoongi squirm because he was always so fucking cool and in control of himself. Even when he'd been so fucking sick he couldn't move, he'd been cool. Bastard.

“Hongbin, stop it,” Yoongi said, breathless, and Hongbin shifted to be half on top of him, looking down. Yoongi looked soft, it was true. But he wasn't. He was hard and mean and bigger than life, he walked like he was nine feet tall and carried submachine guns, he snarled and bared his teeth but sometimes he was small and sweet, when he ran his fingers through Jeongguk's hair or quietly gave him the rest of his noodles when he wasn't watching. Yoongi was tired, he was delicate, and Hongbin--

“Hongbin,” Yoongi whispered, but then he was craning his head up to fucking kiss him and shit, _shit_ Yoongi tasted like cinnamon and his hands were cold, slipping up Hongbin's neck and into his hair to grab on and keep him still, keep him close. Hongbin jerked up and dragged his weight on top of Yoongi, their pajamas separating them but it hardly mattered. Hardly mattered with Yoongi squirming, moaning into his mouth and pushing up against him. Distantly Hongbin remembered that up until very recently, Yoongi had been having sex for his livelihood and it had maybe once or twice passed his consciousness that Yoongi probably looked really fucking good when he was properly pleasured, blissed right the fuck out with his legs spread and his back arched. That he probably blushed and cussed and demanded and he wondered if he'd ever _begged._ Begged and meant it. Hongbin would bet money it was beautiful.

“Hongbin,” Yoongi was panting, trying to rock his hips up as Hongbin pushed his _down,_ resting on his forearms and moving his mouth from soft pink lips to tender white neck, biting, sucking just enough to leave marks but not enough to bruise (hopefully, he really didn't know how much Yoongi could take-- _god,_ how much could Yoongi _take?_ ) and he was only barely listening around the sound of his heart pounding, but Yoongi was grabbing at his shoulders and clamping his thighs and _fuck—_

“Fuck,” Hongbin breathed, dragging his body up Yoongi's, pressed chest together, groin to oversensitive groin so they could kiss, properly kiss, lazy and deep as they relaxed into one another. The wetness in his pajamas wasn't comfortable but Yoongi's warmth was, and his hands tangled up in his soft, dark hair. “That.”

“--was a mistake,” Yoongi breathed, but he moaned when Hongbin kissed the skin beneath his ear, dug the tips of his fingers into his back and tilted his head to offer him more room to work. “Fuck. Hongbin, I--”

“Do you want me to stop,” he asked, sitting up just enough to look down at Yoongi. Yoongi, who had put on weight, who brought him Korean food and taught him Korean words and laughed when he sucked at pronouncing them, Yoongi who loved his brother and who used Hongbin's camera to take pictures because he'd pawned his off before he'd lost... His first job. Yoongi. Who was fucking beautiful and full of fire and laid out beneath Hongbin, hands clutching at his shoulders as he shook his head in answer.

“No,” he said, and Hongbin smiled down at him, dimples and all. Yoongi stared up at him like he was seeing... Something fucking magical, but then he blushed fiercely and shoved at Hongbin's shoulder. “God you're fucking disgusting, get off of me, you bastard,” Yoongi grunted and Hongbin laughed, bending to pepper his face with kisses, avoiding Yoongi's teeth and annoyed words, letting them bounce off his smile.

×

“You're a fucking heathen,” Yoongi hissed, though he didn't try to stop Hongbin's hands from moving down his belly (soft, so soft, he'd put weight on and Hongbin _loved it_ ) to rub at his hips. “My brother is going to be home any fucking minute--”

“Do you think he doesn't know?” Hongbin asked, kissing the tender skin on Yoongi's neck and smiling against it, pressing his teeth against the skin. “He knows. Trust me.”

“He _sleeps in this bed with us,”_ Yoongi protested, and Hongbin laughed. Just like Yoongi to protest against something he wanted just because he thought it would creep out his brother. Hongbin had a mental list of all the things he thought Yoongi didn't _actually_ mind even though he protested. Loudly.

“Not for long,” he said, and Yoongi spluttered in disapproval. Jeongguk had found a “friend” at his job in the corner store—the kind of friend that made Yoongi glare suspiciously and demand to know his intentions. Jimin was an idiot but he was sweet as pie and Yoongi didn't like him, no matter what. Refused.

“I will _not_ let him move in with Jimin Park under _any circumstances--_ ”

“Even if it means he gets a warm bed,” Hongbin asked, his lips on the back of Yoongi's throat. “Even if it means he gets fed three times a day and he can have his own space? And we can have ours?”

“What 'we',” Yoongi muttered. Hongbin supposed that was fair, but it still stung. He and Yoongi weren't... Official. They weren't anything. They got one another off, they pressed close and tight and sometimes Hongbin felt like maybe they should be something, but they weren't.

It hurt a little more than usual this time, though he couldn't have said why. He slipped his hands away from Yoongi and slowly got up. He clenched his jaw so hard it ached as he pulled on his coat and pushed his bare feet into his sneakers. It was warm out. He'd be okay.

“Hongbin,” Yoongi said, with no inflection.

“Hongbin,” he said again, curious.

“Hongbin?”

Hongbin closed the door to the train car and started down towards the river, fumbling for the cigarettes he'd started smoking when Yoongi started saying, _what we?_

×

“You okay, hyung?” Jeongguk asked, and Hongbin nodded, smiled at the use of _hyung._ Ever since Yoongi started working at the restaurant, Jeongguk had started trying to remember his own Korean, and while it was still a fight, _hyung_ had slipped back into his vocabulary like it had never been gone, apparently.

“Yeah,” he lied, smiling up at Jeongguk and Jimin, who were holding hands. They looked so happy together, the two of them. Jimin was sweet. He worked hard, lived with a couple of his friends in an apartment they all shared while Jimin went to night school to be a nurse. He was a good fit for Jeongguk. The two of them were fucking... Fucking happy. What more was there, than that?

(aside from warmth, and food, and shelter, what more was there than love, and Jimin could give him all of those things, all of them.)

(….but hongbin could only give yoongi one, that yoongi couldn't find on his own.)

“Are you sure?” he asked, sitting in the grass beside him, Jimin following easily. “You seem. Stressed.”

he was probably referring to the fucking pile of cigarette butts from Hongbin's smoking, because he'd rather smoke than deal with his own fucking problems.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, I'm sure. Listen, Jeongguk,” he offered him out his camera. “Can you get these developed for me? At the corner store?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I can do it, hyung, for free. You want me to?”

“Yeah,” Hongbin nodded.

×

“...You haven't been home for a few days,” Yoongi said.

“What home,” Hongbin asked. Slurred. He was drunk. Everything was spinning and he was drunk and he was hot and he was mad, what the fuck, who the fuck was Yoongi to care about whether or not he'd been “home,” what kind of fucking home was a train car with a few solar lights and a fucking piece of plywood for a bed? What kind of fucking home was a place where he couldn't fucking—fucking _be._

“Hongbin.”

“Don't you fucking _Hongbin_ me,” he hissed, jerking up from where he'd been sitting, stumbling before catching himself. “Don't you fucking—you came into _my_ house, you fucking jerk, you came into _my house_ and now it's fucking _home?_ Who the fuck are you,” Hongbin wanted to sleep. His head was pounding and his entire body ached. He was allergic to alcohol. He was gonna get hives. “Who the fuck _are you,_ Yoongi Min. What the fuck do you want from me, huh? Fuck _off._ ”

“Hongbin,” Yoongi tried again, and he moved so fast it made Hongbin dizzy, made him jerk back and his stomach lurched in warning. “Hongbin, come on, you're drunk--”

“What the fucks it matter to you?” he asked, laughing a terrible, unhappy laugh and backing away. “What the fuck does it matter to you, huh? It doesn't. It _doesn't,_ so just-- just _leave me alone._ ”

“Hongbin, look out--”

Yoongi was coming forward, but Hongbin was falling, and he hit his head before he hit the water.

He vaguely thought to hope that Yoongi knew he couldn't swim.

×

Hongbin woke up to sunlight. Warm sunlight filtered through green leaves. He was in the train car, and the doors were wide open to the early summer daylight. He squinted, unhappy at being awake because fuck, everything hurt, and he still felt sick, and he'd _yelled_ at Yoongi--

Yoongi.

He jerked upright and immediately regretted it, clutching his stomach and clapping a hand over his mouth as he threw himself out the door and onto the ground, vomiting up alcohol and bile and who knew what, throwing up until he choked. He felt small hands on his back and then in his hair, felt a baby wipe being rubbed over his face to remove the spit and snot and tears from the fucking exertion of being so fucking sick. God he hated being sick. Why had he been drinking again?

Oh. Right. Yoongi.

He'd been tumbled back, was resting against someone warm and soft and it could have only been Yoongi, his small hands on Hongbin's chest as he encouraged him to breathe slowly. “You okay?” he finally asked, and Hongbin hated him. Why was he fucking like this, hot and cold, _what we_ and _look out_ and--

“No,” he said, and he squeezed his eyes closed. “Get away from me.”

“Can't, sorry,” Yoongi said, and Hongbin hissed in a breath through his teeth.

“Leave me _alone._ ”

“No can do,” he said, and his hand was cool on Hongbin's hot face. “Come on. Get up, we'll brush your teeth and you can go back to bed.”

“No,” Hongbin groaned, just to be contrary, because his feelings were hurt, because he was _upset._

“Hongbin please.”

“ _No._ ”

“Lee Hongbin do not make me drag you up into the house.”

As it turned out, Yoongi had to _half_ drag Hongbin into the house, because he was weak and tired and still covered in hives. Yoongi helped him to brush his teeth, and he laid Hongbin down and Hongbin wanted to cry because he didn't understand why Yoongi was being so sweet, why he was being like this when there was no _we_ and he didn't care about Hongbin the way Hongbin was starting to care about _him_ and it was terrifying and he hated it and he wanted to _die._

“Hongbin,” Yoongi said, and Hongbin squeezed his eyes closed.

“Hongbin. Look at me.”

“No,” he said with much petulance.

“Please.”

Hongbin opened his eyes despite himself and Yoongi was close to him, his fingers in his hair, his eyes warm. He almost didn't believe he was seeing it, because he'd wanted it so badly for so long and he couldn't—but then Yoongi was pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I'm know I'm a dick,” he said, and Hongbin didn't say anything even though he agreed that Yoongi was a dick a lot of the time. “I know I'm a dick, okay, but. But I like being here. I like being with you.”

“Liar,” Hongbin whispered.

“Why?”

“What we?” Hongbin said, and Yoongi flinched.

“...I deserved that,” he said, and Hongbin didn't feel any better for hearing that. He shouldn't have said it. He didn't like the way Yoongi's shoulders had hunched up, the way his mouth had twisted. “I deserved that but Hongbin, look. Hongbin _look at me._ ”

Hongbin looked up and Yoongi's hair was soft and fluffy in his face. And Hongbin thought it wasn't fucking fair that Yoongi got to have a halo, especially since he was such a jackass. “What.”

“Look. I'm kind of in love with you and it fucking scares me. And my brother is moving in with Jimin and I'm scared about that too, I'm fucking _scared,_ and I'm sorry I got mad but--”

Hongbin reached to cup the back of Yoongi's neck and drag him down to kiss him with toothpaste-tasting lips. He could have died when Yoongi's hands cupped his face and he kissed him back, kissed him with tongue and a soft moan.

“You're gross,” Yoongi insisted when Hongbin let him go. “You just fucking threw up, you nasty ass motherfucker.”

“You brushed my teeth,” he replied. “You brushed my fucking teeth and you wiped off my face and you're a fucking _asshole,_ Min Yoongi. I _hate_ you.”

“Liar,” Yoongi whispered, and Hongbin grunted, turning over onto his side and away from Yoongi. But his hand was still clutching Yoongi's, and he smiled into the pillow when Yoongi spooned up behind him, his face in the nape of Hongbin's neck.

“Night, shorty,” he said, and Yoongi punched his shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” he said, and Yoongi, after a moment of pause, reached around Hongbin's body. For a second Hongbin was convinced he was going to fucking—try to get him off and he started to say he was sure that was going to make him sick, but Yoongi's hand followed his arm until their fingers were lacing together. He scooted up Hongbin's back so his mouth was near Hongbin's ear and he brought their hands up to his lips and kissed them. Pressed them against his mouth and kissed them, kissed Hongbin's cheek, his ear, his hair and his plan worked, because Hongbin fell silent, and his fingers around Yoongi's squeezed with gentleness.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, and tried to think if he could have imagined himself in this position eight months ago—laying in bed with a man made of fire and moonlight, beneath photos hanging on strings with the sun streaming in through the open door.

“Goodnight.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at work for purely self-amusement and wish-fulfillment purposes. i did warn you, though. i did.


End file.
